117
by United4180
Summary: Master Chief has had such a horrible life, but he doesn't start to think about it until he's on a Pelican headed for the Ark. He remembers the past. The past, that he thought he'd forgotten. Read and review, PLEASE.
1. Part 1 of 3

**ATTENTION: The events and/or characters mentioned may differ from any/all actualities from the _Halo_ franchise. This story is entirely separate from and unaffiliated with any other _Halo_ book, game, or miscellaneous product. _117_ is not endorsed/supported by _Bungie Studios, Microsoft, XBOX _or any other trademarks in cooperation with anything _Halo _related. _Halo: Combat Evolved, Halo 2 _and _Halo 3 _are a copyright of _Bungie Studios _and _Microsoft Corporation_ (1985-2008)**

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117

"_They let me pick…did I ever tell you that? Choose whichever SPARTAN I wanted. You know me. I did my research. Watched as you became the soldier we needed you to be. Like the others, you were strong, swift, and brave – a natural leader. But you had something they didn't. Something no one saw but me. Can you guess? Luck."_

That couldn't have been farther from the truth. Sure, he narrowly escaped being killed frequently, almost on an hourly basis, but SPARTAN-117 might as well have been the unluckiest human ever to have lived. Johnson once told him, he was just another Jonah1. He was right on target, too. John's life was a living hell on steroids. When he was fighting, he was in pain. Even when he _wasn't _fighting, he was in pain. But not the normal pain sustained in battle. No. It was worse. I was the kind of deep, emotional scar that renders an average person broken, with an empty, glazed look that shakes everyone to the soul. But the Master Chief was no average person. He may have been the most advanced human alive. Even though his mind was nowhere near a match.

Chief could, in fact, still remember that day. Not in full detail, thanks to the last 35 years of experiences, but well enough to the point where it would indirectly cause him grief, for the life he never got the chance to lead. He could recall how he was only six years old. He was just spending another day at school, having fun the same way any normal six-year-old would. Every day, he'd play in the courtyard and on the field with all of his friends and classmates. Of course, being a surprisingly aggressive child, the other children only played with him for fear of what might happen if they were to avoid him. But, he liked it that way, to an extent. It proved that he was tough, which was what he wanted people to see more than anything else. But that was usually all that anyone _ever _saw. He was _not _the type of person to mess with. He hated to lose, just like any other kid his age. Only, he wouldn't accept loss, not for anyone or anything. For John, failure was not an option, _ever_. There was no justification, no excuse, for why he should fail. There was no room for error, not for John. He'd fight with every last ounce of strength, right until passing out; if it meant that he could win.

But on that day, the 1st grade teachers held a game of King of the Hill during recess. John had shown a talent for this - and many other games - and had proven that he was nearly impossible to defeat. Everyone took their place, and a teacher blew a whistle to signal the starting of the game. John raced off faster than anyone else, and stood atop the hill on the field for the entire duration of the game, and not once did anyone take his place.

The game was over in a matter of minutes, as the teachers scored based on how long the king controlled the hill. Only John had scored at all. And someone who viewed the game was greatly impressed.

Dr. Catherine Halsey [or as some people called her, Cath] had been watching John for several months now. Not in an inappropriate way, but the scientific way. Along with hundreds other six and seven-year-olds, John had been watched from afar. He was considered to be farther along in both physical and mental development. He was almost an entire head taller than most of the other kids, and had an estimated intelligence quota of 120 points. Additionally, he was muscular, intimidating, had stamina, and seemed to think before taking action. He fit the bill perfectly. But most importantly, he didn't accept failure. He was perfect.

Soon thereafter, Halsey approached him, just when no one was looking. She tapped him on the shoulder when he walked by, also greeting him casually. She sweetly asked him his name, although she already knew a lot about him, but she needed an excuse to make conversation. The boy replied with a small grin, desperately trying to mask it with little success.

"Well, John," Halsey said, "you like fighting?" She asked, thinking back on how she had watched him play against [and beat] one of his friends at paintball just a few days earlier. He hesitated, then shamefully confessed, "I guess so." John quietly spoke as he stared at the ground, scuffing the dust with his shoes.

As if by luck, the bell rang, telling everyone to head back to class. The kids all stampeded toward the door, pushing and shoving on their way in. As the mob traveled along, it left a trail of dust behind from the field, and John, almost by custom, looked around outside before turning toward the door and hastily strolled in. With that, Halsey left. She had finally made her decision, although it was one she wished she didn't have to make (even though she did at some level of thought).

It was that night that an agent from the Office of Naval Intelligence was given the green-light to finish his rounds. The only stops he had yet to make were in Elysium City – John's hometown. After four hours of collection, he went to the last house in the _Athens _subdivision of the _Proletariat _neighborhood. Just before two in the morning, he reached his target, and broke into John's home by means of a window that was carelessly left open in the kitchen. After sneaking past the master bedroom, the agent silently pushed a door open leading to John's bedroom. With a sedated flash clone on his back, he carefully placed a cortical inhibitor on John's right temple, and gently switched him with the flash clone. Now that was done with, he headed back to the kitchen, put the window in its original position, and calmly exited through the back door, making his way to the car that he had driven to the suburban home.

After belting John in to the back seat, the agent put his watch back on, started the car, and drove off to the extraction point near the airport, where an enlarged, old-style pelican was awaiting the arrival of the last few children. Only twenty minutes later, he entered a gate adjacent an aircraft hangar, and drove the car right up alongside the pelican. A marine took the three kids that the agent had brought with him out of the car, and put them next to the five others in the pelican. The agent and marine boarded, closed the door behind them, and then removed the cortical inhibitors to avoid sending the children into shock when they left the atmosphere. They gave the signal to the pilot that they were ready, and took their seats.

Suddenly, the engines roared to life, and the pelican took to the skies. After just a few seconds, the craft lurched in an upward direction, and the artificial gravity was enabled. The sudden change in trajectory woke one of the kids unexpectedly. He was still very dazed and was stunned, but after a moment, he was fully conscious. He looked around, unsure as to wear he was, then cautiously asked, "what's happening?"

"Christ!" the marine yelled, waking everyone else. Desperately, he tried to sedate them with a sedative. Chaos broke out when one kid yelled, "The city's getting smaller!" All of the children crowded around the window. All but John. The marine and agent went around the group of kids with a sedative, rendering them unconscious. The marine came then to John with the shot, but stopped just before administering the drug. He immediately noticed that the boy was as calm as he would be after watching a boring movie.

"What do you think?" he asked the agent. "Should we let him be?" He nodded, and the marine put the others back into the seats, and then took his own, just as the pelican began to leave the stratosphere. John, sitting next to the door, peered forward, looking behind the pelican as it flew along. Eridanus was getting smaller for every second that he looked through the window that was inset into the door. Then, the reality of the situation dawned on him. The men were taking him away from his home. His eyes widened as he realized this, then he slammed back into his seat, wiping a stream of tears away, and smacking his fist against the wall. He didn't know why, but he was being taken against his will, and, somehow, he also knew that he would never see his home in Elysium again.

Was he being punished for something? He wasn't sure. But whatever was happening was a shock, and it scared him. He curled up into a ball and rocked himself back and forth in his seat as he sobbed, pleading in his mind for this all to be just a horrible nightmare that would end soon. But the end never came. It dragged on for nearly an hour. The whole time he cried until he'd cried so much that it hurt to touch the area around his eyes. Then, his tear shed was reduced to the frequent sob, accompanied by the view he had of the ever-shrinking Eridanus II. As the pelican continued on, his home planet grew smaller and smaller, until the point that it was completely hidden behind the moon of which he did not know the name. Then, as the moon too was overshadowed by the sun in the distance, and his loving home, became only a memory from his past.

The SPARTAN let out a choked sigh as he stared through his helmet's visor, remembering that horrid event from his past. He hadn't thought about it until now, as he slowly flew away from Earth, headed toward the Ark. He took a look out the window of the pelican he was in, and got one last sight of Earth. It seemed like such a remarkable place to him. He didn't consider it home, especially since he'd only been there a few times before. But he examined the ocean covering the surface, with its luminescent, bright bluish-green splendor. He saw the brown and green mountains and valleys of the world as it slowly turned on its axis. Eridanus II was nothing like that. Its seas were no longer, and the mountains had eroded into small hills. Furthermore, the planet was much larger than earth, so its gravity was great enough to cause discomfort to the young and elderly. The climate was much less favorable due to its being an extra million miles from the sun. And the planet's atmosphere was light brown, dusty, and mostly carbon dioxide. In fact, only the parts of the planet that were terra formed were livable. But, Earth…it seemed like such an amazing place. So full of life. Much like Reach, the planet on which John was trained. He remembered seeing the oceans, the mountains, the forests, all from the comfort…_dis_comfort, of his quarters.

John sank back into his chair, stacking his long legs on the floor in front of him. He simply let his head nod back as he once again was lost in thought.

John could recall in detail much of what life was like of Reach. It quickly became the only life he knew; the military. Officer Mendez would wake everyone up in the morning by banging on a trash can lid. He always alternated wake-up times though, to keep the trainees ready for anything and to be ready at a moment's notice. But John was always up before then. He'd always wake around four o'clock anyway, which worked out well as Mendez never got up before five.

In addition to always having to get up at ridiculous hours, the food at the training facility was repulsing. Every day, for every meal, it was always the same, bland, dried-out protein mix. It was horrible. It was gooey, mushy, and usually had chunks in it, that, when examined, turned out to be week-old celery and green beans. The side was only two calcium pills and a sugar cube. And all there was to drink other than water, was UNSC surplus immunity-boosting energy drinks, which were utterly disgusting and often made the kids lose their stomachs. But John was tough, and as such he willingly adapted and lived with it (even though he too found it completely inedible).

However, there were some upsides to being on Reach. He had more friends than ever. Even from the first day, he had an "inner circle" of about eight or nine friends. Two of whom, Kelly, and Sam, he had already known before he was taken away from Eridanus. But over the course of just a few hours, they went from being acquaintances to being almost like a family, and the vowed to watch each other's backs, and included a few others in that deal as well. Though, it was all the same no less. Life was hard on Reach in the SPARTAN Training facility. They were never allowed outside the walls of the landing zone. Anyone who violated this rule would be severely punished. Also, they were not permitted any contact whatsoever outside of the facility. They would train for 14 hours a day as well, usually starting with 300 push-ups, then running 40 or 50 miles around in a circle. The rest of the day was weaponry training, obstacle courses, or tactical history and analysis. The SPARTANs had very little to no resting periods; their only resting time was a three hour period on Sunday mornings. And the clothes they had to wear; two pair. The first pair was a set of underwear, green cotton pants, and a green or black cotton t-shirt. Then, they had their training clothes; underwear, cotton shorts, and a black a-shirt. That was about it. The entertainment was non-existent. The only thing to do when the SPARTANs weren't training was play cards, or play games that involved running around. John never did play around though. All he did was what they were expected to do; train.

John made an effort to be physically and mentally ahead of everyone else. It seemed like training and exercising was all he did. Even when they were done for the day, John would keep going, often until ten or eleven at night. Then, the first thing he would do in the morning, was go for a five mile run in the dark to get warmed up for the day. Even on his seventh and eighth birthdays, he would be up and out the door by four-thirty in the morning, out exercising alone. People noticed this after a while, how he would disappear for an hour or two in the morning, come to breakfast, train with them, then disappear for the rest of the night.

Kelly once asked him why he always trained, even when he wasn't supposed to. All he said was, "It's my duty." It seemed to be all he ever said anymore. Aside from when he was spoken to by a marine, he never said anything. Whenever one of his fellow SPARTANs would ask him a question, he would simply ignore them. He wouldn't even talk to Kelly and Sam anymore. It was like, after the first month or so, John had kept completely to himself. Sam, Kelly, and everyone else with whom they were friends with were worried. There was definitely something wrong. Soon he disappeared altogether, only being seen during training hours. Then, one day, John wasn't seen at all. No one knew where he was, and not even Officer Mendez had seen him. Something was definitely wrong. Everyone knew that John wouldn't just disappear unless it was for a reason, and a damned good one at that. But it was decided that he would be found when he wanted to be found, after much searching with no success. Unfortunately, they were wrong. John _wanted_ to be found, although he knew very well where he was. But no one had thought to look there, so he decided it had to be done. He had been away from home now for two years. Two _years_. He had had two birthdays on Reach, in which time he had gone to hell and back. He couldn't take it anymore. It was time…he _ended_ this torture. He picked up a key, and stabbed it into himself. John felt agonizing pain with a foreign object sticking out of his chest, and screamed as if he were about to be run over by a truck. As the last person sat down with their lunch in the cafeteria, everyone went silent as they heard the cry of immense pain. Every SPARTAN dropped their meals and forks and sprinted for wherever the hair-raising screech was coming from. Within a matter of seconds, they broke through the door to the lockup, and found blood on the floor that had just been spurted out through John's chest. Everyone was paralyzed. They couldn't believe the shear horror of what they were looking at. The instant that Kelly saw him, she made a mad dash through the horde of children, picked up John off the cold, cement floor, and hurried off to the infirmary.

As she arrived she urgently yelled for the doctor. Why John would have tried to kill himself, Kelly didn't know, but that wasn't important right now. She had taken John's pulse three times on the way to the medical bay. Each time it grew more and more irregular and got slower and slower. There was one thing that was clear, John was dying. The doctor quickly came out with stitches, a needle, and a scalpel. He quickly removed the key, and plugged the hole with a towel.

"Hold pressure on his chest." The doctor calmly instructed Kelly as he readied a blood bag and biofoam. With an injection in hand, the doctor spread a glob of biofoam across the wound then shot penicillin into John's chest. The foam expanded, and sealed the hole. Kelly reluctantly let off the pressure. John was going to live. Kelly silently thanked God as she stumbled back into a chair next to the door. She still couldn't believe what had just happened. As the physician put the finishing touches on the stitches and wrapped a bandage around John, Kelly started thinking about why John might have tried to commit suicide. It was so confusing. She knew that he was the type that was vulnerable to emotional distress, but she didn't think he would ever go this far. Even after an hour of trying to figure it out, the eight-year-old girl was even more perplexed than she was when she brought John in. She would just have to ask him about it, but her question would have to wait for another day.

The next morning, Kelly was informed that John was conscious again, and that he wanted to speak with her. Kelly threw the sheets off her bed and made a beeline for the medical bay. The entire way there, she ran, ran as fast as she could for only being half awake. She came to the infirmary door, but stopped for a moment to think of how she had carried a dying child through this door just a day before. She felt almost afraid to walk through it again, fearing that fate might decide to take John after all, just like it had almost done the day before. But it was just irrational of Kelly to think that might even be possible. She didn't believe in fate. And she sure as hell didn't believe that her just walking through a door would kill John. She closed her eyes, and strolled in. John sat up from his trance at the ceiling at the sound of footsteps. Kelly could see that he was fine, and was relieved, despite the fact that there was dried blood on his chest. She took a moment to look John over, just to make sure he didn't have any more injuries. She walked around the table, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She didn't notice any wounds, but she did happen to notice how abnormally muscular her friend had become.

"What are you doing?" John asked curiously, somewhat alarmed by the almost motherly way that his friend examined him. She snapped back to reality, simply shrugging off his question. Just as he spoke, she noticed that he was staring at her with a "weirded-out" expression. She simply looked away, toward the status console on the wall near John's bed.

"I wanted to thank you," John said, almost as if against his will. Kelly looked at the SPARTAN, telling him, "It's my duty." There was a moment of silence before she worked up the nerve to ask him she had been wondering ever since the day before. She casually walked up to John and sat next to him on the bed. For a moment she just stared at the floor, slightly swinging her legs back and forth. It was then she realized that she was just stalling, and forced herself to talk. She told him how she considered him the brother she never had, and that she cared about him greatly. She was telling John exactly what she thought of him. He _was_, the only family she really even had anymore. Ever since she was kidnapped by ONI, she considered John to be part of her family, and she grew very close to him very quickly. John felt very much the same way toward her.

John had never had any siblings. Not one. As far he knew, Kelly was as close a friend as he'd ever had. He'd do just about anything for her; maybe even sacrifice himself if it meant survival. And he never thought about reconsidering. He cared for her too. And somehow, knew that she deserved to know why he had done what he had done. He painfully pushed himself off the bed, and landed hard on his feet. Kelly tried to stop him, but he persisted. He limped over to the door, his chest feeling as though it was on fire.

John stopped at the doorway, and leaned against its frame, the bandage around his torso flexing as he put his arm against the wall. He said to Kelly, "I've been away from home for two years – two _years_. I was taken from my home in the middle of the night and was replaced with a vegetable. I was forced to lead a life that I never wanted. My parents haven't seen me for two years, and think I'm dead," John started to sob as he turned around to face Kelly. "And the worst part is…I'm never going to see them again." He said between tears. John collapsed onto the floor and bawled. Kelly rushed over to him and embraced her friend as she herself started to cry in realization at the fact that she was in the same situation.

_My parents…_John thought to himself as a marine opened the cockpit door. _It's been so long…_John stared into space through his helmet.

"Hey, Phil, where did you say that forest extraction point was?" Chief overheard one marine say to another. _Forest extraction point_. Suddenly, another memory dawned on him.

When John was only eight years old, the SPARTANs got their first off-base training mission. One morning, instead of reporting to the courtyard to start the daily training, Officer Mendez called all of the subjects to the hangar. After they had all assembled, he told them what they were going to be doing that day. As he spoke, he spoke like a general, saying clearly, "You will all be dropped off on Mt. Harlan by a troop transport pelican. You must travel to an extraction point approximately twenty miles away, where there will be a small freighter waiting for you. However, the last person to arrive must be left behind, or the punishment will be severe. We leave in a half-hour." Mendez finished, then dismissed the student militiamen.

John was ready to finally get out of the training facility. He hadn't been out in nature for two years now, and he was eager to take in the fresh scent of the Earth-like pine trees, and feel the cold nip of the freshly fallen snow. He'd always loved being in nature, even as a toddler. He could recollect how his father would take him camping every summer on Eridanus I. He loved that almost as much as just getting out of the house. But he loved coming back home as much as he loved roughing it in the woods in the middle of nowhere. John could also remember the time, though, that he and his dad got lost in the forest after going fishing for the day. It took them four days to wander back to their campsite, at which time they decided to cut their trip short. They had almost starved, froze, and dehydrated to death, which kept them from going camping for a year. The memory of which caused something to register in his mind. Had Officer Mendez said to leave the last person behind?

Just before the SPARTANs departed, John told five people to tell everyone on their pelican to meet up just before they reached the extraction point. He wouldn't let anyone be left behind, not on a _training _mission. Then, just a few minutes later, everyone boarded their pelicans and were taken to the drop-zone. All five groups were left in different places.

As the five groups set off, snow started to lightly dust the crisp, white snow in the fresh morning air. John was glad to be out here, but wished that it wasn't for training. Though, the twelve other people in his group didn't seem to mind. Since they were all alone and didn't have anyone watching over them, a few of the children had snowball fight as they traveled along. John, having had no entertainment for the past two years, decided to make the most of his time out in the mountains and joined the others in throwing snowballs. Very quickly, it escalated from a small snowball fight to an all out war. Everyone started making bigger and bigger clumps until they needed another person to help them lift the snow. Others were running as they threw snow and pinecones at each other, laughing like they hadn't since they were civilians. After a while though, they started to calm down to conserve their energy for the few up-hill miles that they had left. Unfortunately, it was almost not enough, as the snowfall started to pick up and the wind started to blow as they reached the timberline. The snow started to harden as ice formed. John decided that they needed to pick up the pace.

"Let's get a move on!" he commanded his fellow SPARTANs as the weather further deteriorated. By the time his team had reached the rendezvous point, thick, grey snow-clouds were rolling in from the north. His team was the last to arrive due to their slacking off along the trail. Many people stared at them with disappointment, while Sam and Kelly were happy to see that he had made it in one piece. Then they were overcome by a wave of seriousness. They explained to John and everyone else that they had spotted two men with guns guarding the door of the freighter. They had seen marines before, but only in uniform, and _never_ with guns. The men looked rather intimidating, and the children decided that they were a hostile threat.

"Here, take this," John said, picking up a few rocks, and taking one in each hand. "Hope you have a good aim." John drew his arm back, and gave the signal for the others to stone the guards. One of the guards looked over a wall of boulders to see a hundred rocks being flung at him. He jumped out of the way just before they hit him, and tried to warn the other of the danger. But before he got the chance to react, he was struck on the head by a baseball-sized stone and fell to the ground with blood spilling out. The other marine tried to help him, but was knocked unconscious by another stone.

John peeked over a large boulder, and saw that the guards were down, then gave the signal to advance, but stay out of the view of the pilot in the cockpit. All 75 kids ran up behind the freighter, being as silent as they could be with the snow crackling beneath their feet. John motioned for Sam to come with him into the spacecraft, and the two lightly stepped in. The kids could hear a squeak. Then they heard a person saying "What the…?" followed by a plop on the deck plate. Suddenly, the pilot was flung out the side door of the craft, and John peeked his head out and said, "Gone!"

All 73 other kids hopped onto the door in the back of the freighter, then took a seat, while John sat in the cockpit, and was joined by Kelly and Sam. Both of whom asked if he knew how to fly. He simply replied saying, "How hard can it be? Press a few buttons, flip a few switches, and pull back on a lever, right?" Kelly and Sam looked at each other with the "he's crazy" look. Sam turned back to the co-pilot seat and buckled himself in after sitting down, while Kelly went back into the hold and shut the door, giving a "thumbs-up" when they were ready.

John flipped a switch that "fuel flow – on". He proceeded to look for a button or a switch that would power up the engines, only saying, "How do you start this thing?" Sam leaned over and hit a random switch, which, by chance, started the engines on idle. He then placed his hand on a lever, assuming it was a throttle, and pulled back on it, causing the freighter to lurch back and smash into a tree. "Oops!" Sam exclaimed. "What do you say we try that again?"

"Without the 'oops'." John added, just prior to slowly advancing the throttle forward. Instantly, the freighter picked up forward speed, headed straight for a large rock. At the last possible second, John pulled back on the control stick in front of him, and the aircraft pitched up, skimming the rock as it flew, leaving behind a trail of sparks and a rod with a black circular tube attached. As it seemed that everyone was out of danger for the moment, Kelly got up from her seat, and headed for the cockpit, stumbling a bit when they hit turbulence.

"Nice job guys," she said breathing heavily from the excitement as she reached the door. John and Sam slowly turned to face her, the faces red from all the adrenaline and their eyes wide, and jaws hanging.

"Thanks," Sam said, stunned from what they had just been through. Kelly then turned to head back into the cabin, but stopped and said, "Oh, by the way, you broke off the landing gear when you took off." John and Sam's eyes got even wider, knowing that they would have no way of safely landing without the gear. What was worse was that they had less time to deal with that than they thought. The landing zone was only a few miles away, and they were already descending into the valley where the training facility was located. As they aligned the craft to the runway in front of them, John and Sam knew they would only have one shot at landing without getting everyone killed. John gently reduced the freighter's speed until the engines were near an idle, then deployed the speed breaks, while Sam extended what was left of the landing gear. The freighter got closer and closer until at the last second, John lowered the nose, then pulled all the way back on the stick to make it fly straight up, putting the aircraft just thirty feet above the runway. In a last effort to make the craft land without completely destroying it, he put the engines on full throttle, and dipped the nose, causing the freighter to stall. As if by a miracle, the giant hunk of metal slammed into the runway, skidding twenty or so feet along the pavement, before coming to a stop. John had done it. He had gotten everyone out of the mountains, miraculously flying the freighter to safety, and against all odds, managed to touchdown without anyone getting killed. Everyone was going to be fine, and so was John…or, so he thought.

"You killed a UNSC _marine_ and critically injured two more, then…_crashed_, a UNSC freighter." Officer Mendez said with anguish. The veteran could hardly believe that John-117, a _kid_, _hijacked_ a UNSC ship and flew it all the way back to the facility. He had never been so enraged at anyone in his life. And he sure as hell had never been more pissed by the fact that John _killed_ a hardcore marine with _rocks_! He, at that moment, wanted nothing more than to kill _John_ himself. But he knew that he couldn't. For one, he would be thrown in a military stockade, and, two, (God forbid) Dr. Halsey recommended that John be _promoted_ to squad leader. _This is __insanity__!_ Mendez thought to himself. In his opinion, they should have put John in another Pelican, and stranded him in the middle of the Mountains…_again_. But what angered Mendez the most, was the fact that no one had been left behind. His idea of the "survival of the fittest" test was eliminated, and his hopes of teaching the SPARTANs how valuable staying unattached could be were dashed. But, Dr. Halsey _was _overseeing the SPARTAN-II program, so he had no other choice, he explained, but to "promote you to squad leader of the other SPARTANs." John nearly jumped out of his seat at this news. He knew that he would make a good leader, but he didn't expect to be put in charge of the other SPARTANs.

The news of John's commendation spread like wildfire around the facility. Within a matter of minutes, everyone knew of what had just happened, and they adjusted their respect for John accordingly (especially since he now had the authority to issue orders to them). But it seemed…that no one treated him the same after that, with the exception of Kelly and Sam. Everyone started to act differently around him, all of the sudden. Whenever he'd walk into a room filled with the SPARTANs, they'd all stand at attention, and stop talking for the rest of the time he was there. Additionally, they never challenged John or argued with him, and always gratefully accepted any advice that he'd give them. But John knew what was up. He saw right through their little act. They were jealous that he'd been promoted ahead of them. Or were they mad? Did it even matter what they were anymore though? Did it matter to John, specifically? Not anymore. He didn't care what they felt anymore, because he knew, some way or another, that they hated him for his being a higher rank. At meals, he sat with just Sam and Kelly, or no one at all. Hardly anyone would ever talk to him anymore, and they all stared at him when he was doing something, _anything_. And this, itself, made John angry as well. Again, John soon began to keep more and more to himself. He'd wake up earlier than everyone else, and exercise in the early hours of the morning, then come back only for training, meals, and lights out. His life rebounded back to being a living hell, and stayed much the same way for the next four years.

By his 12th birthday, everyone despised John, aside from Dr. Halsey, Kelly, Sam, and Officer Mendez. John was utterly miserable, and wanted nothing more than for training to end so that he could move on with his life. To make him feel better and more appreciated, the people who did still care about him threw a private party for him, and had the cook make a cake with ingredients imported from Earth. But, despite their attempts, John refused to take any part in his own celebration, stating, "If I can have a party, why can't everyone else?" It seemed that he refused to allow himself to be happy, or, as happy as a kidnapped child could possibly be in a military institution. Even when the psychiatrist tried to analyze John, he refused to open up. In the end, he was just stumped, even though he knew that John was taking the hatred that others felt for him and turning it inwards. He refused to work through his pain. But then, one morning during the resting period, John finally explained why he had been acting the way that he was to Sam and Kelly; he never had many friends on Eridanus-II. All the friends whom he could actually recall having were Sam and Kelly. Everyone else was either an acquaintance or someone who didn't like him in particular. He felt incredibly depressed by the fact that he had never had many friends, which was one of the reasons why he had tried committing suicide those years earlier. But it might have been a good thing in the end, the fact that he was unattached to most people. For just two years later, their training had come to an end.

At fourteen years old, John-117 was as fit and muscular as an Olympic swimmer. He could run a mile in just under five minutes and seventeen seconds, and lift up to 243 lbs. of weight. He stood at five feet, seven inches (about three or four inches taller than most of the others) and would risk everything for one person. He was the ideal candidate for what was to come next…

A week or so later, the SPARTANs were all notified that they would be genetically enhanced for combat. John was given a roster of who would have what day and what drugs would be dispensed. But he was shocked by the sheer number of "enhancements" that were listed. He counted 5 drugs and bio-modifications. The first of which was something called "Carbide ceramic ossification" which was listed to be used for strengthening bones to near indestructibility, involving the use of metal and ceramic particles that could adhere only to bone.

Even though he didn't know what it meant at the time, John thought it sounded painful, and, in his opinion, the other drugs didn't seem to be any different. Quite frankly, he didn't like what the claims were in this case. But he did acknowledge the fact that these biological modifications were his future, and had to accept them, for tomorrow, he was slated to receive the first of the augmentations.

-----END OF PART ONE-----

* * *

Author's note: Please go easy on any scrutinisation of this story. It is the first one that I've written for _Halo_, and I only know about as much as what's in here. I'm aware that many, if not all of the events in this story are inaccurate, but I'm not very well versed in _Halo_ history, nor do I know much of Master Chief's life, or the SPARTAN-II program.

Oh, by the way, feel free to review! :[|)

* * *

PART ONE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Data gathered from:

( FFN was being stupid with the sites, so add **halo dot (.) wikia** to the beginning of the names)

1.) Master Chief's life: .com/wiki/John-177 by: Arbitor116, The_Bones_Chief, ONI_recon_111, Spartant_laser, Apocalypter, Mutantclannfear, Badd32, & Kre_%27Nunumee

2.) Augmentation: .com/wiki/SPARTAN-II_Augmentation_Procedures by: Spirit-Of-Halo, Ghostbaren117, Simon_rjh, Heroic_Wolf, Haze_M14, Spartan_921, Subtank, & Major Lucrecio

Special thanks to all those who contributed recently to Halopedia!

-DP-Back2fyooture


	2. Part 2 of 3

ATTENTION: The events and/or characters mentioned may differ from any/all actualities from the _Halo_ franchise. This story is entirely separate from and unaffiliated with any other _Halo_ book, game, or miscellaneous product. _117_ is not endorsed/supported by _Bungie Studios, Microsoft, XBOX _or any other trademarks in cooperation with anything _Halo _related. _Halo: Combat Evolved, Halo 2 _and _Halo 3 _are a copyright of _Bungie Studios _and _Microsoft Corporation_ (1985-2009)

----PART TWO----

EGHHHH, EGHHHH, EGHHHH, EGHHHH! A "SUHMACK" came with the action of John smashing his fist onto the alarm clock on the nightstand. He opened his right eye into a slit, just enough to still be able to make out the time without being blinded by the light, then closed it back up tight, hoping that he'd be able to get a few more minutes of sleep. But, no, Déjà didn't take to kindly to that, and transferred to the projector on the appliance.

"Squad leader 117, it is time to wake." The AI said with monotone. John refused to stir. "You must wake." The program persisted. John only rolled over, still able to see the light emanating from the hologram through his tightly sealed eyelids.

"You are ordered to cease regeneration."

John moved the edge of his bed, swung his legs over, and sat up quickly, his head jerking forward when he stopped.

"It's called sleep, Déjà." John retorted, almost wanting to delete the impassive AI. Reluctantly, John sat up, and staggered to his footlocker, yawning once or twice on the six-foot journey. He dropped his hand down on the lock, punching in his combo. Finally, after a few tries, he input the right number, and the door sprang open from the hydraulic pressure, throwing a shirt that had snagged on a loose bolt into his face. He slowly pulled it off his head, rolling his eyes from annoyance.

"You best hurry, 117. It is 0400 hours, Reach military time."

The SPARTAN turned, glaring at the hologram. _Of course, it can't tell how pissed I am, _he thought in the deep, still unconscious recesses of his mind.

Quickly, but clumsily, John pulled his a-shirt down over his face, leaving a patch of messy, matted hair behind [although he wouldn't be able to see it in the dark]. He did the same in changing into his camouflage-patterned pants, then jogged out the door and down the corridor to the meeting hall. He flung the door open and rushed in, hoping not to be the last there, but, as unusual as it was, he was actually one of the _first_. Only a handful of others were there. Confused, John asked why only they were there. Linda, one of the other trainees, told him at that moment,

"Only six of us are supposed to be here today. Everyone else gets their turn over the course of a few weeks." She explained. At hearing that, John didn't care anymore. No big deal, he had been confused. Now he wasn't. _Probably just nervous,_ he reassured himself, _no reason to be nervous_. But, he did have a reason. There were risks involving the augmentations, significant risks. Most of which could possibly be deadly, or, cause life-altering defects. There was definitely no shortage of defects for the augmentation. There was a long list of possibilities. One of which, the catalytic thyroid implant, was a major concern. In the description, it read in bold letters: **WARNING: In rare instances, this drug can cause Elephantiasis. **John sure as hell didn't want the lower half of his body to swell to six or seven times its normal size. And that did, by the way, include _everything_. Then there was the "muscular enhancement injections", which could also cause the heart to swell until the subject died. Didn't exactly seem like a very good way to go, but John knew that he'd be in good hands with Doctor Halsey performing the augmentation, or, at least, the printout that he held _claimed_ she'd be handling the procedures. But, nonetheless, it comforted the SPARTAN a bit, knowing that, either way, whether Dr. Halsey worked on him or not, the doctor that did would still be very capable. Although, not everyone seemed to show that.

As John passed down the hallway to the medical bay, his path converged with that of Fahjad-034, one of the SPARTANs that had served under him for the past eight years. He was very friendly, in John's opinion, although he could be, at times, difficult to understand due to his accent. As Fahjad moseyed past, John caught a glimpse of the look on his face. It was a look similar to that of the feeling of regret, or, _confusion_? No, more like, knowing that you were about to die.

John stopped in his tracks, and turned around to get a better, slightly more detailed idea of what that was. Fahjad had his hands in his pockets, and walked as if he were stunned. He slowed to a drift, followed by a complete standstill. John watched as his right arm lifted to his chest, while his free hand went to his face. The SPARTAN watched attentively as he let himself drop to the floor, and lean into the wall beside him. He could hear a slight whimper, accompanied by a minor sob. _I wonder…_ John said to himself under his breath. He flipped open to the second page of the packet he'd been given about the genetic alterations to take place an hour or two later and looked at the schedule. As he thought, he was listed to be the first of the subjects, probably to, "set an example for your men" as Chief Mendez called it. Though, this wasn't about him, it was about Fahjad. He ran his finger down the list along the side of the sheet, until he came to Fahjad. His "upgrade" was to commence at 1600 hours. Hadn't he known someone who had died just prior to his conscription? That person must have died around that specific time. And, come to think of it, it had been exactly eight years, to the _day_ since they had all been brought to the SPARTAN training facility. Did Fahjad think he was going to _die_? He must have; otherwise, he wouldn't be wandering through the hallways aimlessly, as if he were an escapee from a mental hospital. But, unfortunately, John didn't really have any time to start worrying about Fahjad. He had to address all of the other SPARTANs on the upcoming augmentation just fifteen minutes from now. He didn't think that it was that big a deal, and hadn't prepared anything to say ahead of time since he'd grown quite proficient at speaking to his fellow SPARTANs while ad-libbing. He just told himself every time he had to do this, _go with the flow_, and _say what comes to mind_. However, this sometimes would come back to haunt him. Every now and then, after an unusually hard day, John would become very uneasy, and the slightest thing could trigger his temper. He could remember how one time, CPO Mendez was the finger on the trigger. Even after a long day of intensive training, he expected John to brush up in the flight simulator for a few hours. All John wanted to do, or even _could_ do then, was rest. He didn't have the energy for it, so he simply said to Mendez, "Not a chance." Mendez, not being the understanding type, persisted, pushing until the point when John simply told him to take the key to the simulator and "shove it up his ass". A few minutes later, John figured out just how big a mistake that was, when he was running uphill on a fifteen mile-long trail. By the time he'd gotten back to base, it was half past eleven, and everyone else but him and Mendez were sleeping. It seemed that as soon as John's head hit the pillow, he had woken up. And he had to do the same thing again before he could run another twenty miles back to the education hall.

The sound of footsteps behind him shook him back to reality. He turned to see many other SPARTANs leisurely walking to the amphitheatre. John picked back up on _his _walk there as well, beating everyone else in by about a minute, giving him plenty of time to get on stage. There wasn't much up there, as was to be expected since it was seldom used. There was nothing but three overhead lights, and a projector screen for viewing old-style "movies" as they were called, during history. A few minutes passed quickly as John quietly waited for his comrades to take the seats. As Mendez dimmed the lights, John scanned through the highlighted text, to pick out what he could say without violating informational protocol. The on-stage lights brightened a bit, causing a little discomfort to John and a few in the audience.

"My fellow soldiers," he began, attempting to speak with a sense of honor and prowess in his voice. "We came here, eight years ago, and were told that we would become the best that we could be made of," he continued, thinking back on how he and everyone else had been addressed by Dr. Halsey when they had first arrived. "Today, we assemble, well educated as well as physically robust, knowing that the past years have been hard, but worth-while. We came here children, and the last hope for peace in the UNSC. Although we didn't always know it, we were destined to be heroes. But, today is not that day. We still are not the best we can be turned into.

"As you are all well aware, six years ago it was decided by the United Nations Space Command, that we were to be genetically engineered. _That_, was what this day is devoted to. It is a risky process; granted, that many of us may not survive," this comment started to make the room stir. "But those of us who do," he started to shout, getting people to calm down a bit. "Will be faster, stronger, smarter. In the end, we will be more powerful than anyone else of the human race, and it will be our duty, to preserve those who have made us what we are today. To those of us who are about to die, we salute you." John let the silence continue for a moment, giving everyone a chance to pay their respects to the friends whom they knew very well may not make it to the next day. A good thirty seconds passed, and John finished with, "The procedures will begin in half an hour, and will be performed in reverse order of identification numbers. Godspeed, SPARTANs, Godspeed." With that last remark, John left the stage, and walked up the center aisle of the auditorium. Everyone turned as they saw their Squad Leader walk by. The truth of what was to come dawned on them, that that may be the last time that any of them would see John alive, or would even _be_ alive. As most of them guessed, he was thinking the exact same thing as well.

As he placed his hand on the door, John stopped, and turned around to see his fellow SPARTANs, many of whom would be part of the funeral that would undoubtedly follow a few weeks from now. All of them promptly stood, and faced their Squad Leader directly.

"Present salute!" Sam respectfully ordered the rest of the SPARTANs. Everyone saluted John with revere. He returned the same honoring salute, then smiled as he turned and walked back out into the hallway, taking what might be his final walk to the medical bay. As he walked in the door, he was immediately greeted by Doctor Halsey.

"Let's get this over with," John said as he plopped down on the medical bed. Dr. Halsey leaned over him.

"What, you're expecting me to operate through your shirt?" She asked sarcastically. John sat back up, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to a laundry basket on the other side of the room.

"I'll need you to breathe deeply," Halsey remarked as she put an anesthesia mask over the subject's face. He did as he was told, and with a few breaths, John was out like a light, refusing the tempting urge to fight against the gas.

Dr. Halsey attached a few censors to John, following standard medical procedure to the letter, despite the fact that _this_ procedure couldn't have been any less standard.

"Ready the serum." Halsey ordered as her assistant entered the room. They would only get one chance to do this right. If John were injected too early, his body would likely reject the catalysts. If he were operated on too _late_, he would go into shock, and possibly, a coma.

The screen on the console beside the bed read that John's heart rate was now 90 BPM, and his blood pressure was 80 over 120. It was safe to begin. Dr. Halsey picked up the first injection for the procedure. It wasn't one of the augmentation injections, only one that would allow for them to be dispersed fairly evenly throughout John's body. It dripped once or twice, as she stuck in John's chest, in order to get it as thoroughly spread as possible. She waited a few minutes before proceeding, just to make sure the shot had done what it was supposed to. It indicated that it was working properly by increasing the neural activity, as was shown on the monitor on the console before here. Her assistant handed her another injection, this one, for bone strengthening. It was a very concentrated amount; only 400 cc's of it could be given to him without causing damage. Slowly, and hesitantly, she plunged the needle into the hole where the previous injection had been administered. She situated her thumb on the plunger, and pushed it down sluggishly, watching the serum squirt a tad as the grey fluid came out. The end of the shot was reached, and she repeated the process three more times, to get _exactly_ 400 cc's.

Dr. Halsey finished and traded the drained syringe for one that was filled with the proteins. As she aimed it in John's already muscular arm, she prayed that neither he nor any of the others would have to suffer the rare, but serious side effect that might come with this. It was entirely possible that John's body wouldn't be able to take this kind of punishment, and the injection might make his heart swell until it ruptured. She hoped this wouldn't come back to haunt her, and pushed the stopper on the syringe down until it was emptied. It was refilled, and John's other arm received the same treatment, followed by his legs, and chest. Twenty shots total, just for the muscle density. There were still many shots and an operation to be performed. All ran smoothly as Dr. Halsey finished shooting John up with whatever was needed to the augmentation.

The final procedure was the implanting of the two, somewhat bulky, metal hormone-containing pellets into John's thyroid. The doctor had already lasered the surgical "cut" marks into John's neck. She picked up the laser scalpel and activated it, creating several small incisions. She turned it off, putting it in her lab coat pocket. With the pellets in hand, Halsey pushed them both in to the separate incisions, and dug them deep into the thyroid, blood squeezing out as she did so. The console beeped twice to indicate elevated levels of testosterone and serotonin. Halsey set the laser scalpel to "seal", and closed up John's neck. The augmentation was over. He had pulled through with no trouble whatsoever. John had made it. He made history.

BAM! BAM! PHWOOMP! CRKKK! The trainer was down, and probably dead from the way his suit had imploded. The emergency search lights in the cave activated and scanned the mock barracks for any signs of the SPARTANs in the ring. They covered every spot, and still, no sign of them. Another trainer came out of a large metal door, his suit colored grey with intense lights. This was getting out of hand. Six people had already been killed, mostly at the hands of only one person; John. He was on a rampage to take down every single one of his targets, before they took him out, despite the fact that their Mark I suits only had stun rounds loaded in the guns. Nonetheless, even stun rounds could kill if less than four meters away. The search lights in the cave and on the trainer went out. It was pitch black. Not one light source was illuminated, not _one_. Even the trainer's night vision was useless, despite how it would take any source of light, even in the slightest, and would amplify it 10,000 times its actual intensity. But John didn't have that problem; neither did Sam nor Kelly, both of whom were helping take down their targets. They all had exceptional, almost perfect vision, and almost created their own light in this environment. They could see some light coming through the cracks between the observation deck windows, and could even see some light coming through the trainer's one-way visor.

Without thinking, the three sped toward the trainer in the large suit, passing the_ fifty mile-per-hour_ mark, a speed that even some Earth vehicles from the 21st century couldn't reach! Sam and Kelly jumped just before reaching their target, who hadn't even heard them coming. John watched as they bounded end over end, reaching a peak high which must have been _at least _three or four meters over the already 2.6 meter-tall trainer. The trainer didn't even have enough time to blink before John smashed into him, punching him twenty or so feet across the barracks, leaving both a good six-inch deep hole in the granite wall, and a three-inch indentation in the solid titanium block of the trainer's Mark I exoskeleton. It could have been a much deeper dent, if only there hadn't been a four-inch thick lead plate behind the exterior metal. John once again collided with the unconscious, or possibly, _dead_ man, punching him even harder than he had before, then tossed him up in the air while Sam opened a can of whoop-ass. After a fraction of a second, Kelly kicked him just before he hit the ground, and he hurtled right through one of the barracks. John, Kelly, and Sam had taken him out in less than six _seconds_! During that whole time, the trainer never even caught a glimpse of the ones who more than likely _killed_ him. Even the high-speed cameras which used thermal imaging barely managed to record any material. But the trio of SPARTANs were definitely still inside the cave.

"Okay, that's enough," a voice clicked on over the intercom. John was able to recognize Mendez's voice instantly, and not just because of the augmentations from two weeks before, which increased his hearing and reaction time by a factor of ten, or more.

Standard overhead lighting dimmed on slowly to give the trainees time to adjust optically, although they didn't need much time. The metal blast shields covering the windows of the observation deck slid away, revealing CPO Mendez and Dr. Halsey standing in front of a control station.

The trainees looked up into the viewing area. Immediately, they could see concerned looks on their faces. Even from over half a mile away, they could tell that something was happening.

"We need you over here, now." Halsey ordered. The observation deck began to lower into the training ring, where the SPARTANs already were, thanks to their great speed. As the door opened, Halsey and Mendez stepped out, both looking as though they had early symptoms of Parkinson's disease. "SPARTANs, the ONI has just sent us a priority one message." John's eyes widened slightly, as he cocked his head quizzically. _Why would ONI send a message on an alpha priority channel_, he asked himself. The only time that _anyone _would do that was in times of emergency or for security reasons, and even still, beta-length frequencies were usually reserved for those rare instances.

"A rebel outpost has been detected in the Chi-Ceti system." Mendez interjected. "A few hours ago, they attacked a cargo vessel en-route to Chi-Ceti Four. It's time you were put to good use."

"Sir?" An ODST walked up to the Master Chief.

"Sir? Are you alright?" he continued on. Chief looked at him, and realized he was still here, sitting in a Pelican drop ship on the way to what was believed to be the Ark. _I'm_ _still alive?_ Chief hesitated to respond, but forced out, "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know, sir. I was going to ask you the same thing." The trooper replied through his blue-tinted visor. Chief started to notice that the ODST was quaking slightly. He seemed…nervous.

"First mission?" he asked, making a first attempt in a long time to make an acquaintance. The marine sighed and shrugged, taking a seat on the opposite side of the Pelican. Reluctantly, he nodded and dropped his SMG in the seat next to him.

"Don't worry, it's not that bad." Chief remarked, although he knew it would be a lot worse for an un-augmented ODST than it had ever been for him. Or…would it? Chief looked out the small, brick-sized window at a moon that they happened to be passing by. _His_ first day fighting the Covenant was still lingering in his mind.

A warthog convoy carrying all of the SPARTANs accelerated through an underground tunnel in a remote facility near the training center. John looked around through the window of the enclosed six-seater vehicle. They were in a narrow tunnel. Its lighting was poor, and there was only one lane, with a mere meter-wide shoulder on one side. Kelly nudged him with her elbow as the turned around a bend in the tunnel.

"I've never seen a warthog that was this luxurious," she said, motioning to the heated fabric seats, the air-conditioning vents, and the rare seatbelts, which none of them were using. The warthog was completely enclosed, with actual doors; something of which John hadn't seen on a vehicle for a very long time. But he quickly shifted his gaze back out the window, and seconds later, he spotted a metal door and a small parking area. He could clearly make out the words, _restricted access, authorized personnel only_.

The convoy began to slow, and pulled into the parking spaces in front of the wide metal door. John made sure to be one of the first one's out of the truck so he could avoid the mess of people who would for sure try to file in at the same time. Mendez was close in front of him, while Kelly and Sam trailed close behind. Mendez punched in a code on a keypad situated on the top of the door handle. There was a beep, followed by a green light, and then the opening of the door. As the SPARTANs walked into the facility, they saw just how big it really was, at the least, six times larger than a 21st century football field. All through it ran catwalks, high overhead, almost in the lighting grid, along with doors and barriers that ran down all sides. On one end was what seemed to be an equipment testing area, and on the other, a high-tech obstacle course. Everyone stood in awe for the fact that they had never imagined that something this big could possibly exist almost a mile underground and another three miles into the side of a mountain. The place was simply huge.

John's concentration quickly changed targets as Mendez bellowed, "Attention!" Instantly, all sixty six eyes were on him. He then turned the focus over to Halsey.

She began. "SPARTANs, welcome to ONI prototype testing facility zero-three-seven. For the past decade, we've been working on some experimental equipment here. You may have heard of project MJOLNIR. This is what you've been told about…" she pointed to a large rack of suits a few meters away. "These are Mark IV power suits, specifically designed to fit your needs. They are composed internally of liquid crystal and liquid metal materials, which allow the suits the ability to enhance your already heightened sense of speed, agility, and strength. However there is a catch," Halsey trailed off, looking toward a holographic projector installed on the ceiling and floor. She pushed a button on a control pad, and the projector flickered to life.

"Take a look at this." Halsey added as a video began to play of a regular marine attempting to use a power suit.

"_How do you feel?"A man off-screen asked the marine. He answered, "Fine."_

"_Good," the man continued. _

"There's something I want you to notice," Halsey paused the video. "The marine is wearing an arm-piece off of a Mark IV suit. Look at how is arm is down to his side." She continued the clip.

"_I want you to put your right arm straight out in front of you." The man requested. _Suddenly, there was a circular blur of the marine's arm, which only lasted for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable; even to theSPARTANs who could now see at double the frame rate of a normal person. Halsey once again paused the clip, then switched it to the high-speed camera view. It played back in ultra-slow motion, but there still was a considerable amount of motion-blur. John watched, stunned, as blood flew in every direction as the marine's arm ripped off and swung away from his body. The clip ended, showing the camera splattered with guts, muscle, bone fragments and blood. Some of the SPARTANs showed their disgust, while others gagged, and some even threw up. Halsey waited a moment before continuing.

"As you can see," she too looked like she felt sick. "The arm piece along from the suit made the subject's arm move so rapidly, that it dislocated from his shoulder. Then, centripetal force pulled it completely clear of his torso."

John tried not to look at the anatomical animation of the gruesome event on the projector. Seeing it once was more than enough. It was so disgusting. Of course, they had to show the clip again at full speed, at which you could hear the blood-curdling scream of the mortally wounded marine, or, rather, the now _ex_-marine.

"There is considerable risk in this suit. Nine other people volunteered for testing, all of them suffered either severe injuries or death. However, there is one factor that sets them apart from the rest of you," John had all but tuned out at this point. If it meant getting killed before even taking his first step, he wasn't sure that he even _cared _what set him apart from the others.

"The difference is that you are all much more robust than these test subjects, which is why it is our belief that you will be able to handle these suits. In theory, you should be able to overcome the exaggerating effects of the motion-amplifying liquid much more easily than anyone else, making SPARTANs the idea candidates."

John was a little more accepting now, but he still shunned the idea of using these…these _things_. They seemed downright dangerous. In his opinion, no one should have been permitted to even consider testing them. But his fellow SPARTANs had other intentions. Sam was the first to step up to the plate.

"I'll take a crack at it," he said before whirling around to face John. "With your permission, of course."

John felt like he had been stuck in the middle of a firing squad and as though he was being forced to take aim on one of his best friends. He glanced around at the other SPARTANs as soon as he realized they were all looking, their eyes either glued to Sam or John. It dawned on him that he couldn't put his friend's life on the line just so he could put off trying the suit for himself. He knew that he just couldn't do that to him. He had to stop putting himself first. Mendez had once told him that it was his men first before himself. To preserve them, he stepped up. Besides, he knew as well as everyone else that they'd all have to try it eventually. It might as well by now. And John might as well be the first to test the new equipment in case it was unsafe.

"Sam, I can't let you do this unless I know you, and everyone else, would be alright." He turned to Halsey. "Suit me up." He said as he walked toward the rack holding each set of armor. John selected a set at random, trying to look for one that was different from all the others so his teammates could pick him out from amongst themselves. After just a few seconds of searching, he came to a set with green trim against the grey armor. It was…_unique_.

John carefully, lifted the 500 pound suit from the rack, almost dropping thanks to arms, still not all the way healed from the procedures a few weeks earlier. Even to him, it was quite heavy, and kind of bulky in itself. _Why me? Why do I always put myself in these positions,_ he wondered as Halsey and Mendez assisted in the task of putting on the heavy armor. And heavy it was. With just the leg pieces, John already felt as if he was a hundred pounds heavier. In all actuality, he _was_ a hundred pounds heavier. At least, that's what the scale he was standing on indicated. Gradually, he added more and more mass as more of the armor was applied. First the chest piece, which seemed to him to be the bulkiest and most uncomfortable. Finally, the arm pieces were attached, the part he was least looking forward to, especially after seeing the marine's arm being gorily ripped from his body. _Oh dear God, why did I have to remind myself of that gruesome video clip? _John scolded himself in his mind, only to be yanked back to reality by Dr. Halsey.

"How do you feel?" She asked, "Comfortable?" John turned his head to her, as if to say 'are you serious, are you not looking right at me, do you not see me biting my lip and keeping my left eye half closed?' Instead, he replied with a simple "more or less". Mendez then stepped back two or three meters as Halsey started to explain what was about to happen.

"I'm about to fill the gel pockets in the suit with the polymer," she elucidated. "It'll feel funny at first, but as long as you don't move, you'll be fine." She turned and walked back to a computer console after connecting a few clear plastic tubes to the armor pieces. She asked John if has was ready. He nodded, his eyes closed, readying himself for what might be his death. He hoped to God that it wouldn't be.

Halsey tapped a button on the computer, and the six tubes leading into John's suit started to fill with translucent grey fluid. The SPARTANs all held their breath as they saw it ooze closer and closer to John, who was starting to breathe faster with every passing second. He froze in shock as the suit began to fill from the bottom up, but he calmed down as soon as the gel got past his ankles. Actually, it wasn't so bad. It felt a little funny, yes, kind of like jumping in a pool of viscous water. The suit felt cool against John's legs as the gel continued to creep up to his shoulders. Now that he really thought about it, this was quite comfortable. The gel in the bottom of the suit made his feet rise off the inside of the boots. It felt like he was standing on air. It was the most comfortable he had been since he was a toddler, which he didn't remember much about, no less. Soon enough, the suit had been filled with the gel to the top of the chest piece. By now, he didn't even notice that he was in the suit. It felt as if it were just an extension of his own skin. He wouldn't have known that it was part of him if it hadn't been for the way the gel made him a bit on the cold side.

Halsey walked closer to John, and detached the tubes connecting to his suit. She promptly dropped them on the floor next to him, and noticed she forgot to drain the material back in to the reserve tank. It was expensive stuff too, and was oddly one of the hardest things for even the military to come by. But, that wasn't the issue right now.

"John," she grabbed his attention. "How do you feel?"

He laughed a little as he choked out the words, "I've never felt more comfortable in my life." Halsey cocked her head in simple acknowledgement.

"That's nice," she commented. "But, focus. I need you to bend over and pick this up," she said as she showed him a pen before placing it on the floor in front of him. _Easy enough,_ John thought. Even a dodo bird could do that.

John bent over…and _overshot_ the pen. His hand ended up in a metal crate behind him. But, he was still alive, and all of his extremities were still where they should be. He tried to move his hand forward again, and ended up only a foot away from the pen.

"This is a lot harder than I thought it'd be," he remarked. He focused harder, imagining himself to be the gel in the suit, and made his movements much calmer. Everything else around him disappeared, and only the pen in front of him was there. John ever so slowly and gently moved his arm, and picked up the pen like normal, holding it up to everyone else.

"I think it works!" he said, and everyone cheered that he had been the first to successfully test the suit.


End file.
